When it rains, it pours. Rain, in this case, being a metaphor for fun.

On Saturday, Caed went to a birthday party that included a Karate lesson. He got such a kick out of it (hardy har har). He hasn't stopped talking about it since. And, given the fact that the dynamite instructor had a room full of five year olds standing at attention yelling "Yes Ma'am!", I am highly inclined to sign that boy up for regular lessons.

And then there was Sunday, the supposed "day of rest." Yeah, I'm not sure what that even means. Dani was up at 5 a.m., and Larry left for work by 6:30 a.m., so the only context for the word "rest" was in the sentence, "So, you can handle the rest, right?"

The day was what you might call a tight squeeze. We left church with just enough time to scarf a PBJ and change into jammies for the Laurie Berkner concert. (It was a PJ themed concert. Hence the PJs). None of the pictures I took did justice to the downpour of fun. Afterward, my face hurt a little bit from smiling. I knew they'd enjoy it, but I had no idea how much. They danced, clapped, hopped, giggled and sang with the kind of rapt attention I could only dream of obtaining from them.And then. We ran (through the actual rain) back to our car to head to a pumpkin carving party. Where, (why yes, how did you guess?) we carved pumpkins. I hoisted Dani up to see the action while Caed spooned a few seeds out. Then off they went to play with their friends in a knife-free environment while I slaved away on the cleaning and carving.We lingered a long while with our friends, gobbling pumpkin-shaped sugar cookies, catching a bit of football and wondering why it was snowing in Foxborough but raining in our backyard.

Then we got home, and stopped wondering.Which of course leads me to conclude that when it rains, it snows.(Buh dum bump...I'm here all week, folks!)